Beached
by Ameliorably
Summary: After the events of Hiatus, Gibbs is down in Mexico with Mike Franks, and through the fragments of memory, is trying to figure out who Jenny really is to him.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: So, I was watching Judgement Day a couple of weeks ago, which in turn caused me to be attacked by plot bunnies wanting me to write a post-Hiatus number, and lo, it was so. To all my peeps hanging out for another chapter of Unintended, I'm working on it, I promise!**

**PS this is ch 1 of 3, and the next two are all lined up to go, so, see you same time next week :)**

* * *

Gibbs hammered a nail into a shingle he was reattaching; the sharp staccato of the hammer meeting its target drifting off on the sea breeze. He'd been down here less than a day and already he'd reached the point where he couldn't stand to be idle. He reached down for another nail and lined it up, only to pick it up again and place it in his palm as yet another flashback assaulted his senses. They were frequent, and had been since what Mike had taken to calling his 'near death experience'.

It was her again: His boss, the director. Jenny, Jen, whoever the hell she was.

The 'what' was becoming clearer, he was starting to get a sense of when, and the how still a mystery, but what struck him the most was the strength of emotion that accompanied the memories. His heart felt swollen and raw when he thought of her, like he might reach out to touch her only to find her gone. It was different to the debilitating, world shattering blow of losing Shannon. While that had faded into the background like the dull ache of a crippled limb, Jenny remained fresh in his mind. It was a lesser wound, but one that bled often, never quite scabbing over. In its own way it made a lot of sense.

She was still here, she was alive, and part of him was angry at her in a faded kind of way. It probably had something to do with why they were no longer together, but he couldn't be certain. He wasn't certain about anything anymore.

He changed tack and tried for a moment to remember his wives, but his mind was even less forthcoming. He remembered a couple of names, maybe their faces. "Diane, Stephanie and…?" Jenny said he'd been married? Three." Which meant he'd forgotten one, but it didn't bother him, though he absently noted that it probably should.

The shock and horror of his awakening at the hospital was a blur. He remembered the pain, he remembered the anguish and wanting to die from the sheer brutality of it, but the only other thing he could recall was the look on Jenny's face as he'd grabbed her by the lapels and demanded his family's return. He'd seen devastation, and maybe a little bit of fear at his sudden physical confrontation. Not just because he'd completely dismissed her, but because she couldn't produce what he so desperately wanted. She'd been hurting, and it had been for him.

He'd replayed it in his mind as much as he could stand to, and sifted through the few fragments he had, and the only conclusion he could reach was that though they were over somehow, business was unfinished, though he worried that it was more from him wanting than what was actually there, but no matter how many times he went over it, that was what the story told.

The voice of Mike Franks punctured his thoughts. "You okay up there, Probie? You haven't hit a nail in five minutes."

Gibbs leaned over and peered down at him but said nothing, his expression inscrutable.

Mike smirked at him. "Oh, I know that look, you're thinking about a woman," he said with no small degree of satisfaction. "Wouldn't happen to be that lady boss of yours now, would it?"

Gibbs shrugged noncommittally.

"I thought so."

Gibbs stared at him with the look of a man not all there and Mike sighed and his shoulders seemed to deflate a little. "C'mon, Probie, it's about time we had some lunch."

* * *

The cantina was buzzing with life, the commotion of people going about their business down here was less like the hum of an American crowd and sounded more like a flock of colourful birds. Mike looked long and hard at Gibbs who was sitting unseeingly at the bar before he beckoned the owner over to them. "Hey Camila, bring us a couple of beers, will you? And maybe some of whatever tasty morsel you've got going today, other than yourself, of course."

She swatted him on the arm before casting her gaze over Gibbs. "Is he okay?" she asked, nodding towards the other man, who had his elbows resting on the bar and was still gazing off into nothing.

"Ah, he'll be fine." Mike said, brushing her off, but truthfully, he had his own concerns. He'd known Gibbs for a long time and they'd shared a lot of silences, but for those he'd at least been mentally present, whereas right now he couldn't be totally certain. The man had barely even blinked when Camila had spoken to him, and his chivalry alone would normally have demanded he reply. Gibbs was deep in something, that was for sure; deep in whatever that bomb had shook loose in his brain.

The commotion around Gibbs barely touched him as it drifted around him like a dull haze. He was only vaguely aware that Mike had spoken either to him or someone else, and it'd washed over him like tepid water. He was lost again, his focus turned inwards as he tried to scrabble together the elusive fragments of his scrambled mind.

He'd remembered a few things: more about his team, the echo of his house as he walked through it alone, the satisfaction he felt as he tended to the boat in his basement, and the self-loathing he felt whenever he thought of the wives he'd left in his wake, but once again his mind turned to Jenny. These particular fragments were almost care worn from turning them over again and again. He needed to know more. She wasn't Shannon and she wasn't a wife, but she was significant and she was still here, though he was starting to wonder if maybe she had left him and he couldn't quite place why.

The first thing he'd remembered about her had been them making love in a bed in a hotel room in some foreign country, and the memory had hit with the same force as everything else he'd remembered in the hospital. The initial shock it had hit with had dulled, but the intensity of the memory itself stayed as strong as ever.

The next time he remembered her he'd been sitting in the airport waiting for the plane to Mexico when suddenly, vividly, he remembered walking with her and was still somewhere foreign, maybe France. It was dark, nighttime, and they were on what looked like a bridge across the Seine that was all lit up in the night, the yellowish light making their faces glow in the darkness. Her hair, much longer then, was set in gentle curls that fell about her shoulders, and he'd wanted to reach out and stroke it. They were holding hands, and Jenny was laughing; a throaty, genuine sound, as she bumped shoulders with him affectionately. She'd been teasing him. He was smiling too, he knew it, and for a moment he'd felt happy and free.

At the hospital she'd said she was his partner, and as far as he could tell she'd meant work partner, but so far, the only piece he had that might fit with that was what had come back the night before. He'd been in bed when it had struck, but sleep had refused to claim him, and suddenly, he'd been transported to the morgue with Ducky, and their conversation still echoed around the insides of his skull.

"Jethro, where on earth is Jennifer?" He'd asked, his brow furrowed with concern.

"I don't know." Gibbs had answered, though it was only a half truth. He knew he'd known more than he was letting on, and was in Israel? Cairo? Still in Europe? Somewhere.

"Well, wasn't she with you on the plane?" Ducky had asked, probing further.

"Nope."

There had been a beat's pause as the man had scrutinised him in a futile attempt to glean more, and when he'd spoken next his tone was accusatory.

"What have you done, Jethro?"

And the truth was he didn't know, but nonetheless was hit with a fresh wave of betrayal and hurt

He was as confused as ever. He rubbed his face and his hands stopped to rest over his eyes. She'd gone, but then she'd come back, though they weren't together now, but there were still feelings. He didn't know whether she'd left him, or the job had torn them apart.

Mike's voice brought him back to the present. "You remember something else, Probie? His gruff tone was neutral, but his concern was obvious.

"Yup."

"Who's it about this time?" Mike asked, though he had a sneaking suspicion. He'd expected most of Gibbs's returning memory to be about his first wife and daughter, but so far that didn't seem to be the case.

"Jenny." Gibbs stated simply, seeing no point in hiding it. "I'm trying to remember who she is."

"She's your boss."

"Yeah, but who is she to me?"

"Well on that one I've got no idea. You told me at the hospital you only remembered her as 'Jenny'. Who calls their boss 'Jenny'? What went on between you two anyway?"

"Well I dunno, Mike, would I be asking if I knew?" Gibbs demanded, unimpressed with the question. "She said she was my partner, but I don't remember."

"But you remember something."

"I remember being with her in Paris; walking, laughing... other things."

"Ha, other things. You mean like the naked tango?"

"Yeah," Gibbs answered, smirking a little.

"I knew it!" Mike declared triumphantly, taking a sip of his beer. "You know she called here not too long after you arrived; wanted to make sure you were alright, didn't want me to tell you. The girl cares about you, Jethro - hell, she was the one who called me up there to you in the beginning. Though I don't know how she found me, 'cause I didn't leave no forwarding address. Last thing I wanted was for NCIS to come looking for me, there was a reason I retired."

Gibbs smirked at this. She'd always been a good investigator, though he still couldn't tell how he knew. He also knew she was deliberately staying out of his way, though he couldn't tell whether it was because he'd barely given her so much as a goodbye, or if it was because she knew him well enough to do so. Her expression had been grave as he'd told her he was done, and her eyes sad, but he couldn't know anything until he knew more.


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you so much for your reviews 3**

* * *

That night his dreams were of Jenny and another strange hotel room. This time the atmosphere was tense, and they were nowhere near the bed in the middle of the room.

She was sat at a dressing table in a robe applying makeup to her face. Her hair was pulled back into a tight knot, and he watched her as she slipped a short, black wig neatly into place over the top. They'd done this before. He looked down at his own task; he was transcribing a seemingly random string of numbers from the photographs laid out in front of him. They meant something. Somehow all this would help them find their mark. Mark for what? Death. If not now, later.

Jenny rose from her position and walked over to him. "You ready?" she asked, watching him as he wrote

"Yeah." he replied as he copied the numbers from the final photograph onto the piece of paper.

He looked up at her and was met with a solemn expression, her eyes made all the larger by the pitch-black wig she wore. "I have a bad feeling about this." She said, and Gibbs jolted awake, reaching for her hand in the night.

His heart pounded as he sat up and tried to remember where he was. Mike, Mexico. The waves crashed out on the beach and he lay back down onto the narrow bed as the sound confirmed his location.

More images flickered unbidden into the fore of his mind.

A shot in the night and the screams of a woman. He knew it was Jenny.

It was dark. He followed that horrible sound as his skin prickled with cold and the fear she might die.

She was on the ground, still screaming.

A hole in her thigh, blood everywhere.

Relief. Only her leg. It's only her leg.

It could still kill her.

"Jen, shhh."

Jen.

Then they were somewhere else, indoors, and there's another man with them. Decker.

She's still screaming, only it's now muffled by a pillow.

The smell of burning flesh hits him hard, and he's back on a battleground.

Field medicine.

No hospitals here, not for deep cover operatives in a strange land.

Gibbs blinked back to reality and stared at the Mexican ceiling above him and the shadows that danced across it. Nausea rose up in the back of his throat. He wanted to call her just to make sure she was okay, but that was stupid.

It was years later now, at least half a decade, and she was his boss, not his lover, and she was fine.

His fingers ached to touch her, which felt like a familiar feeling.

"That's too bad. I missed you, Jen."

They were in the squad room and she was standing above him on the stairs dressed in a smart suit with her coppery hair all coiled up on the back of her head and longer than he'd ever seen it before.

She left, and then she came back. This was when she'd turned up as director.

He meant what he said to her, and she looked conflicted.

Job Vs Gibbs, the way it'd always been.

Was that how it ended, she'd chose the job over him? Somehow it fit, but it didn't explain why she'd looked at him like she did. Maybe it was regret, he couldn't be sure.

He closed his eyes again, willing himself to give in to the exhaustion that dwelled in his bones, but the moment he did he was hit with another vision, this time of Kelly.

Her blue eyes sparkled in her beautiful face as she giggled. "Daddy!" She squealed playfully, and the little blonde girl next to her giggled as well.

Her name was M something. Maddie? Kelly's friend.

His eyes snapped open and he staggered clumsily from his bed.

No.

He stifled a scream at the pain and injustice of it all, but he didn't want to remember, not now or ever.

Gibbs clumsily pulled on a sweater and ignored the tears that were wetting his face. He missed his boat and his basement, and he was damn sick of beer.

The bottles clinked as he grabbed another and headed for the beach.

He sat down on the cool sand and felt the mild breeze circulate around him.

Back at the house Mike looked out of the cabin window at his old friend's retreating back and figured he should probably go after him. Normally he wouldn't bother. Firstly, because he didn't do that, and secondly, the old Jethro always could take care of himself and certainly didn't need babysitting. With new Jethro he wasn't sure, and better safe than sorry.

Gibbs looked up in surprise when he heard Mike approach. "Sorry, didn't mean to wake you."

"You didn't. I'd have had to be asleep first. You wanna talk about it?"

"Nope"

"Come on, Jethro, you try keeping all that inside and you'll end up crazier than you are now."

Gibbs stared into the sea and said nothing.

"You remember anything other than Ms Director?"

"Yeah," Gibbs said, swallowing heavily. "Kelly."

"I'm sorry Jethro, I truly am."

There was a moment's silence. "Remembered some stuff about Europe, too."

"With that Jenny?"

"Yeah, she got shot."

"Oh well, at least you know she lived to annoy you another day. You ever work with her before that assignment?" Mike asked, trying to put it all together.

He was sitting at his desk quietly seething, and Burley and Decker had sensed his mood and made themselves scarce. Morrow had just told him he was getting a new partner now that Mike was gone. That hadn't been the problem; neither had the fact that she was female, though he'd been enjoying the lack of estrogen at work given how much of a pain in the ass Diane was being. No, the icing on the cake was that she had no law enforcement experience. She seemed to be a bored analyst who'd decided one day she wanted to go to FLETC, and now Morrow had stuck her with him.

He'd flipped open her file and scanned the details.

Name: Jennifer Shepard, no middle name, Date of birth: October 12th, 1967. Marital Status: Single, Degree in Political Science, graduated with honours. Great, a degree in manipulating and kissing ass.

He'd then squinted at the thumbnail photo of her attached to the corner. Red hair. Gibbs snorted. Either Morrow knew about his preference in women and had done it on purpose, or the universe was messing with him. She was good looking, too. Nice face, pretty eyes.

Didn't matter. She had all the hallmarks of being a pain in the ass, so it didn't matter what she looked like.

Turned out she was also tall, athletic in build and had legs went on for days.

She was gonna be a Pain in the ass.

Only she wasn't. She was also smart and competent with sharp wit and a wry sense of humour. And by the middle of the day he'd been annoyed at himself because he liked her.

"Yeah. She was assigned to my team right after you quit."

"I told you, Probie, I retired."

"There a reason you're asking me all this, Mike?"

"Doctors told me to get you talking, said it'd do you good."

Gibbs gave a rueful chuckle.

"So, you gonna do anything about her?"

"Doctors tell you to ask me that too?"

"Nope, I was curious. You obviously like the girl, given how you're mostly thinking about her."

"S'complicated."

"Yeah, how so?"

"Well, first I'd need to know how it ended."

"Ah, yeah, there is , guess you'll just have to try to remember harder then, won't you."


	3. Chapter 3

**AN at the end x.**

* * *

Gibbs hammered another nail into Mike's roof and sat back to swig water from a beaten up plastic bottle.

He was back on the bridge with Jenny. They'd finished their assignments and had a few days free before they received their next orders. The lighting was the same as before, only this time they stopped to look over the edge at the water flowing beneath it, and when he turned to look at her she was no longer smiling. Her expression was serious, and she was squinting slightly as if to brace herself against what she was about to say. "I love you, Jethro."

He'd been surprised and he'd brushed her off reflexively. He laughed, "That'll be the day."

She'd turned away quickly and pulled her hand from his, but it was hard to miss the hurt that flashed across her face.

His blood had run cold. He'd slowly been coming to terms with the fact that he had feelings for her, but he'd been unprepared for her to bring them up like she did, but it'd be okay. It wasn't as if she was going anywhere...

But of course he'd been wrong. Gibbs took a deep breath and looked out over the water as things started to come together with an uncomfortable clarity. He was certain she'd left him now; he just didn't know how.

There was more, there had to be more.

They'd just landed in London. The Navy had sent a private jet for the ride across the channel as a reward for their job well done.

She was quiet on the ride over; he'd figured she was tired.

She got off the plane first and went to get her luggage, but by the time he got there she was nowhere to be seen.

He got back on the plane thinking maybe she'd forgotten something, but she wasn't there either.

His heart sank, and then he'd seen her coat. The soft beige of it was almost the same colour as the plane seat, but he'd know it anywhere. He'd bought it for her after Marseille. He'd seen her admiring it in an expensive little boutique in Paris and gone back later to buy it for her.

With a creeping sense of dread, he'd picked it up and checked the pockets, one after the other.

His hand found nothing in the first, but his hand slid into the second one and drew out a neatly folded letter.

She was gone.

The realisation was like being doused with cold water.

It wasn't just the job, it had never been just the job.

He knew it, and on some level, he'd always known it, he just hadn't wanted to: What he'd said on that bridge mattered.

He needed a phone, and he needed it now. He threw down his water bottle and quickly descended the ladder.

Mike looked up from his position in his hammock. "Nothin's on fire is it, Probie?"

"I need a phone." He said before disappearing into the house to find with no further explanation. He scrabbled around to find something to pay Camila with.

"This wouldn't have anything to do with that lady director of yours now, would it?"

His only response was silence.

"Well I'll take that as a yes." Mike muttered and took a sip of his beer.

* * *

At the cantina Gibbs handed Camila a wad of bills. "I need to place a call to Washington."

"Is everything okay, Senor Gibbs?"

"Yeah, it's fine." he said, and she handed him the phone.

"You wanna go out the back for some privacy?"

He nodded once and followed her proffered arm.

Once alone Gibbs punched in the familiar number and put the phone to his ear

It rang twice before she picked up.

"Jen?" he said, not waiting for her to say anything.

"Jethro, is everything okay?" she asked, her voice full of concern.

"Yeah, just wanted to apologise."

"Apologise, for what?"

"For what I said in Paris."

"I'm sorry, Jethro, you're going to have to be a little more specific." Her tone was airy and light, but Gibbs could hear her apprehension. She knew.

"We were on a bridge, and you told me you loved me, and I told you that'd be the day. I'm sorry."

Silence greeted him.

"Jen, you there?"

"Why now, Jethro?" she asked quietly, her voice husky.

"I just remembered, and I realised."

"Realised what?"

"I screwed up."

He heard her exhale slowly. "Well, what exactly are you proposing we do about it?"

Gibbs smiled at the word 'we'. "Well, I was wondering how you'd like to take a trip to Mexico."

* * *

"Hey Jethro," Mike called, coming out of the house. "When's your lady friend getting here?"

"Anytime now." Not long after he'd called Jenny had left a message with Camila saying that she'd be flying down the next day after work, and Baja was three hours behind that.

"I retire, I keep to myself and try to live a quiet life, and now the director of NCIS is coming to stay at my place. This is all your fault, Probie."

Gibbs smirked and Mike rolled his eyes before continuing. "I've changed the sheets on my bed, she can have that one, and I'll sleep in the hammock."

"Nah, I'll take the hammock. Don't wanna put you out of home." Gibbs said, adding more driftwood to a pile he was building. The sun was going down and the air was getting cooler.

"What, you planning on sneaking into bed with her?"

"Nah, she hasn't agreed to anything yet."

"Other than flying all the way down here for you. What did you say to her anyway?"

"Just apologised."

"Apologised!"

"Uhuh."

"For what!"

Gibbs smirked and shrugged.

Mike snorted derisively. "Women. You building a fire?"

"Yup"

"Well how romantic of you."

Gibbs rolled his eyes and said nothing.

"Uh, Jethro?"

Gibbs looked up at him, and Mike nodded to a travel-worn Jenny standing on the end of the trail beside the house. Her blouse and slacks looked decidedly less crisp than they no doubt did this morning.

"Evening, di-rec-tor." Mike called out to her.

"Mike," she nodded in acknowledgment.

Gibbs walked over to where she was standing. "Jen," he greeted softly.

"Jethro," she greeted in kind, her eyes scanning his face. "How's your head?" She asked as her fingers ghosted gently over the wound above his left eye.

"Fine." He said and caught her fingers in his.

Mike cleared his throat. "Uh, I'm gonna leave you two lovebirds and head down to the cantina. You have fun now, won't you." He said, and promptly excused himself from the scene, keen to avoid any potential escalation in displays of affection.

Jenny slipped the bag she'd been carrying from her shoulder and let it drop to the sand before following Gibbs over to the wood pile.

"You hungry?" he asked. He had a cooler fill of food with him that he'd paid Camila to make for the occasion.

Jenny smiled. "I ate on the plane, but that was a little while ago."

Gibbs reached into his pocket, pulled out a book of matches and struck one as he busied himself with lighting the fire.

Jenny studied him as the orange from the growing flames illuminated his face. "What are we doing here, Jethro?"

"Talking." He replied, stating the obvious.

"Oh, is that was this is?" Jenny asked. She raised her eyebrows in a mixture of amusement and exasperation at his single-word answer and sat down on one of the chairs.

Gibbs stood up and tipped his head in acquiescence. "Been doing a lot of thinking."

"About us?"

"Yeah, and about why you left," Gibbs could sense her apprehension, but pressed on regardless. "If I'd said something else on that bridge, would it have made a difference?"

"I left because I didn't want to end up with nothing; the promotion was something. There was no point staying if you didn't feel the same way."

Gibbs sank into the chair beside her. "That day, you caught me off guard. Sometimes it takes me a while to know what I'm feeling."

Jenny chuckled ruefully. "If I'd have known back then there was a chance you felt the same way, I'd have stayed in a heartbeat."

"What about now?"

"Well that depends."

"On what?"

"On how you feel about me now."

Gibbs leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers. She tasted of familiarity and saltiness brought about by a warm day. He pulled back to look at her, and her eyes shone in the half light. She hadn't rejected him.

"I love you too." He said, relinquishing the answer he'd held onto for so long.

Her eyes were large and solemn as she gave a small smile, and they slid shut languidly as he leaned in once more.

It had been too long since they'd touched in any meaningful way, yet in kissing her no time had passed between them. He ran his fingers through her now much shorter hair, causing it to stick up as he went.

When they broke apart once more, Gibbs picked up her hand and pressed it to his lips.

Jenny laughed. "You know, this kind of reminds me of when we were in Serbia."

* * *

Mike trudged along the trail home, pleasantly buzzed after his evening at the cantina, hoping to heaven that in the time that he'd been gone, Gibbs and his lady director had got whatever overly amorous reunion they no doubt had planned out of their systems.

As he drew nearer the smell of wood smoke reached him first, followed by the voices of the pair in question, and feminine laughter.

Mike frowned. He'd been expecting them to have disappeared inside, or at the very least be engaged in some kind of inappropriate, semi-nude public display of affection, but he was obviously mistaken.

For a fleeting moment he wondered if he'd maybe misjudged the nature of their relationship, but as he rounded the corner he witnessed Jenny get up to grab another beer, only to be snagged around the waist by Gibbs and pulled onto his lap; a move which earned him being punched on the arm apparently also warranted a round of kissing.

"Yuck," Mike muttered to himself. He wanted to tell them to get a room, except that'd mean they were closer to where he'd be sleeping. But he wasn't really too upset about it. Jethro looked more alive than he had in a long time, and if this was what it took for that to happen, then so be it.

The fact that that happened to be exchanging saliva with the director of NCIS on a beach gave him a moment's smirk.

They paid him no attention as he opened the door and went inside.

"Well played, Jethro, well played."

* * *

**AN: What do you think? I hope you enjoyed this little journey through Gibbs's memories.  
**

**Now, an update on Unintended for those interested. I'm sorry it's taking so long! It's been a combination of writing time being scarce and not being that happy with what I'd written. There's sometimes a fine line to tread between what Gibbs and Jen would and wouldn't say to each other and they've been driving me insane. But anyhow, long story short is taking time out to write Beached has made me feel a little more inspired and connected with the characters, and I'm using that as fuel with some success. Thanks for being patient with me x.**


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